The room is flawless. Every window in the hall is trimmed with ivory satin drapes, complimenting the ebony silk bow's that have been tied around them to keep them in place perfectly. There are bouquets of white roses, arranged completely symmetrical to each other, lining the isle, which was covered in a scattered array of petals from the same flowers with the occasional red petal tossed in to add contrast and a flash of color. The seats are made of the same flawless satin as on the windows, and the same beautiful bows are tied around them just so. Were a stranger to walk in at any moment, one who was unaware of what was going on in the next room, he might think it was a wedding for a royal, or a celebrity, or at the very least someone who was incredibly important, not to mention rich.

That stranger would be correct in assuming so, because this wedding was to be for someone incredibly important. However, were this stranger a very perceptive sort of person, he might notice how the petals on the isle are completely intact, or how there isn't a wrinkle present on the satin-covered chair. He might take into account the fact that there isn't a single wedding guest to be seen, and how even though it's more than clear that no wedding has taken place, there's a caretaker in the corner who's beginning to take down the drapes.

And pick up the petals.

And throw out the roses.

Yes, if this stranger happened to be one with a keen eye and a sharp mind, he would realize that no wedding had, nor would, occur in that hall today.

Now, if our stranger was also the curious type of folk, or simply one who wasn't a fan of standing still for too long, he might decide to talk a walk. If luck was on his side - or exactly the opposite, depending on how you look at it - he may happen upon another room in that very same building. A dressing room, filled with witches in short, black dresses forming a circle around one incredibly distraught white-clad bride.

It is upon seeing that, if our stranger has half a brain in his head, he would turn and run.

Rose Weasley was standing in the doorway of the hall, watching the men work. She was fighting the urge to yell at them to stop, tell them that he'll be there soon, he's just running late! It was lucky that she inherited her mother's logical mind, because right now it was only the Granger side of her brain that was stopping her from insisting that the wedding was still on, and was the only thing that had given her the strenghth to take off the atrocity of a wedding dress Luna had made for her and shove it into the furthest corner of the room.

Lysander wasn't coming back for her. The note had been clear enough, almost too clear, now that she thought about it. It was blunt to the point of being rude, but written in her ex-fiancee's unmistakably flawless script that made the words engrave that much deeper into her mind.

Rose,

I cannot marry you. I fear my feelings for you have changed greatly since the initial engagement, and I can string you along no longer. I have left, but of my own accord, so please do not attempt to follow me or pursue me. I do not wish to be found.

Please give my ring to the owl, and she will return it to me. As you know, it was my grandmothers, and it is of great importance that I get it back. Also, please tell my mother that I shall be writing to her shortly.

Lysander

And that had been that. No apology for humiliating her on what was meant to be the happiest day of her life, no heartfelt 'I will always cherish the time we spent together', nothing except the demand she return the engagement ring and a message he wished to relay to his mother. It was so typically Lysander that she nearly laughed when she first received it, although that laugh quickly turned into a hiccup, which took mere seconds to evolve into a waterfall of tears. Within seconds she was surrounded by a flurry of consoling bridesmaids, with her mother in the back of the room yelling out every foul curse in the book.

She hadn't wanted their comfort, though. What she had really wanted to do was kick them all out on their arses and tell her mum to go get some fresh air, but she found herself unable to speak without choking on her own tears. It wasn't even the fact that he left that was upsetting her, it was the mere embarrassment of the whole situation, and the anger at herself for letting her fall for someone who was clearly nothing but a self-absorbed prick.

It had taken Rose hours to calm down, but as soon as the tears stopped flowing she had sent everyone home before stepping out of the room herself, pleased to see that none of the guests were present. That would have been the absolute last thing she needed: having to answer an onslaught of questions and her thousands more "comforting" phrases from near strangers - or worse, have to come face-to-face with members of the Scamander family. Merlin seemed to have cut her a little slack at that moment, however, because there was no one in sight except the crew who had come to clean up the near-wedding.

And it was there, in that doorway that she had stood for hours, watching them with a mild interest as her mind wandered elsewhere. She thought back to the day she had first met Lysander, their first date, first kiss, first fight, first break-up, first time getting back together, first...well, first time. He had been all of her firsts, she realized with a slight start. He had been all of her firsts, every single one, and he hadn't even given her the decency of a proper break-up.

Rose rolled her eyes. Typical Lysander.

In all honesty, she was past the point of being sad about his departure. That was another quality which was inherited from her parents, although this particular one was from both sides of the family. They didn't waste their time being sad - instead, in the usual Weasley/Granger fashion, they got angry.

And she was most certainly angry.

Memories, little scenes from their relationship continued to flash through her mind at an alarming pace, until one began to play more often than the others. She willed her mind to stop on that one, more out of curiosity than anything, and leaned against the doorway, eyes fluttering shut.

-flashback-

"Lysander? Is that you?" the redhead called from the kitchen upon hearing the front door open, poking her head out into the hall. Her fiancee's lean frame wandered into view and she smiled broadly at him, grin spreading as he gave her a quick wink. "How was your day, love?"

"Usual," he said, shrugging as he flipped through the day's mail. "The Minister came in, gave us an 'inspirational' speech on how our work was changing the world for the better, and then we sat around in our desks and played cards until the day was done. I can't remember the last time we've actually had a chance to go out on the field. Just no need for aurors these days, I suppose." Lysander turned, pushing his dirty blonde hair back from his face before beckoning her to come closer. "I missed you,"

Rose flushed, walking towards him with that same school-girl feeling fluttering around her stomach. How was it possible he still made her feel like that, after all the years they had been together? It was something she asked herself every day but never managed to find the answer to, and really she felt that she was perfectly fine not knowing. As long as he continued to make her happy, she didn't mind at all.

It was only when he pulled her into his arms and her head was nuzzled into his neck that she noticed something unusual. Something...floral.

"Ly?" She leaned her head back off of his chest to get a better view of his face, confusion written all over it. "Why do you smell like flowers? And..." leaning forward, Rose took another sniff and wrinkled her nose. "Sweat? What on earth were you doing?"

He was silent for a moment, and if Rose had been looking at his hand she would have seen it shaking like a leaf. But his face was smooth, and there was a sweet, almost patronizing smile on his face as he looked down at her. She chewed her lip, wishing he would just say something to fill the silence, but all he did was shake his head and lean back against the wall.

"Rosie," he said a few moments later, speaking to her as if she was a child. "You know I eat my lunch at Hogsmeade, and you know how hot out it was today. I was walking through the streets - sweating like a pig, I might add - and that batty lady from the beauty shop assaulted me with her stupid new perfume. That's all." Placing his hands on her shoulders, his blue eyes bore into her brown ones, and spoke slowly. "You have nothing to worry about with me. Ever."

And with a kiss on her forehead, he was gone.

-flashback-

Oh.

Of course.

She was an idiot. A stupid, daft bimbo, the kind she made fun of all the time for being so completely and totally thick. It was obvious. It had been right in front of her face the whole sodding time, and she had been too blinded by "love" to even see it until now. Merlin, how could she not have noticed? The perfume, the late nights at work, coming home smelling like sweat and who-knew-what-else. It was clear as day.

He had been cheating on her.

That was it. The last straw, the end of the line. Leaving her on her wedding day because he didn't love her? That was enough. But leaving her on her wedding day because he had been cheating on her with some floral-smelling bitch? No way in heaven, hell, or anywhere in between was he going to get away with that. A plan was already formulating in her mind, one that was going to end this damn thing for good.

She was going to get her revenge, and she knew just the person to help her get it.

After all, hell hath no fury like a woman scored, and Rose Weasley was most definitely one of those women.